12 Sunday Apr 2015
Posted in Poetry
≈ Comments Off on TWILIGHT BURNING
Tags
everything hurts, free verse, Lady Snowblood, mythical sisterhood, Poetry, Red Horn Hill, twilight burning
Come, heart, less kind than
gray twilight, burning in fires
of slanderous tongues
where spring dew is heaped
upon Red Horn hill. Sun and
moon and hollow and
twilight gray if there is a
mystical sisterhood they will
not come for me, if there is a
Lady Snowblood she is not
here.
11 Saturday Apr 2015
Soaks through your
knickers, long after the
change, what will save you,
greedy virgin? Romance? Take
a lover, still the sea will
surprise you, grab you,
consume you, fill you with
stranglelove. As if your
human lungs stood a
chance, as the waves touch
you, as they lick your thighs.
10 Friday Apr 2015
Pat the bunny, the shadows
are long, sometimes I can’t
always find whomever I’m
looking for. Or whoever. I get
those mixed up. See, you
were an aunt to me. Though
I come from a different womb,
different time, different world,
all that you praised is still here,
like this child that you helped
raised though you didn’t know
it. Come, feel daddy’s scratchy face.
10 Friday Apr 2015
“Kafé, kasita non kafela et publia filii omnibus suis” — an invocation to allow one to enter someone’s dreams.
Dreams are coming to
the heel just outside,
the shadow in my sly-boot
box says so. This, too, is
a love poem and like all
brief solutions is already
fading. Meanwhile go
nowhere, do nothing.
Every motion wasted.
Finger this hole. On my
lips a sticky residue: jizz,
junk, slicked back hair.
Fleshpot vespers. Spooky
bird. I will enter your dream.
13 Thursday Nov 2014
Posted in Poetry
≈ Comments Off on shallow depression
falter your fingers in
frozen sand where
lovers lay my halter
pulls, elegy on all
fours calming hand
leaving nothing ash
a shallow depression
where I went down
barbarically
04 Tuesday Nov 2014
Posted in Poetry
≈ Comments Off on canyon shadows
Deserted mountains, hoist
the provisions among
the fronds, I love
a burned country.
Only the sound of
quails can be heard,
gout ragamuffins through
the crags, do not talk
to me like I’m perishable
food. The sunbeams look
best when free, undress
upon entering the deep
hills. The rocks on
the green moss will
say: I love
the pigment in you.
01 Saturday Nov 2014
Posted in Poetry
≈ Comments Off on yeti
Tags
free verse, howl, poem, yeti
At ten thousand feet
the mountain deer
spots a scant shadow, like
that of a tree on a hill
moving slowly away
and the dog wonders
do tonight’s footprints
belong to a beast?
This legend moves brimmed
with sadness, blinking in
the frozen heights and
like our myths
it will go down
with a howl.
31 Friday Oct 2014
hold close I
love you not
because you’ll
do anything to
be loved but
because I
remember you
before all this
shit went down
21 Tuesday Oct 2014
Posted in Poetry
≈ Comments Off on schmutzy golem girl
Tags
earth magic, free verse, golem, Jewish mythology, poem, Poetry, Rabbi Loew, schmutzy means dirty
Legend concerns the animation of uniformed matter (which is what the Hebrew word golem means) … [and] the most famous golem is Rabbi Loew’s giant servant made from mud of the [river] Vitava, who was brought to life when the rabbi placed a shem [magical scroll] inside the clay …”
— from, The Rough Guide to Prague, page 101.
In the end, being
nothing more than
river clay, she left
dirty teeth marks
each night across
my neck and
fingers. Clothes
shopping was
a nightmare.
Food bored her.
Often I found
her laying on
her bed, moodily
playing with
her shem.
Her eyes,
the same sludge gray
that they drudged her
up from, held all
the cosmos, twigs,
a drowned squirrel.
Once she said that she
wished to see a heart
break, “Or a bone!”
looking eagerly at my
hand. “Don’t worry, it
can be a small one.”
But it was the warmth
that ran wild in me that
she couldn’t believe.
Tracing a fingernail
across each injury
she’d left fascinated
her. “Purple means
love,” she marveled,
watching all my bruises
change colors the way
the earth changes
with the sky, seasons
and clouds; reflecting
back everything; fading
back into what it once
was; the earth once
again reclaiming all
it had ever created.
10 Wednesday Sep 2014
Tags
Babylon, Bedouin, free verse, Jeddah, Lilith, poem, Poetry, sand storm, summoning
“I have always loved the desert. One sits down on a desert sand dune, sees nothing, hears nothing. Yet through the silence something throbs and gleams …” ― Antoine de Saint-Exupery, The Little Prince.
1st PRAYER:
Wake and watch dawn pour over the desert;
as it does everyday in the city
of Jeddah, in Babylon. She searched for
Lilith among the corpses the raiders
leave for the vultures for she has waited
lifetimes, another dawn, one more sunset,
for this. Out on the Sahara’s low lip
something entered her wrists, thin fingers stirred,
touching, just once, nails kissing each other.
All I tell you is a secret, a need
beyond word, beyond sound, silence, until
the silence releases something like prayer,
like song. She sat in the sand, drew circles
with her curved horn-blade. It is hard not to fall
in love with blades, with rage, with a war like blades.
It was a summoning from the silence,
from Lilith, the First Wife, the First Lover.
She threw down the curved-horn, turned to the south.
A Bedouin widow sat on a dune,
watching the girl watching the vast sand storm
approach, washing over everything; pulsing
with what the ancients called destruction of life.
